


Five Times Chloe Fell For A Hero and the One Time Her Heart Wasn't Broken

by sarcastic_fina



Series: The Multiships of One Chloe Sullivan [29]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-07
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe Sullivan has had too many heartbreaks in her life, but one of these days she's bound to find the right hero, isn't she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I - Clark Kent

History had a bad habit of repeating itself. She should've learned the first umpteen times it ended badly. Clark Kent was... her own personal hero. The Man of Steel - the last son of Krypton - Superman, himself. And he was her best friend, more than anything else. He was the shy farm boy she met when she was thirteen and was sure then and there that love at first sight was real. But apparently so was turmoil because as much as her heart cried out for him, his was always set on a certain Lana Lang. The back and forth, pitiful triangle would go on for far too many years and she'd try and try and try again to get Clark to see that he could have something wonderful and real with her. But in the end, when he did give in and he put his heart out there and he did love her, the turmoil didn't fade.

Their relationship was good. In between saving the world and avoiding the hit men that must have her name circulating through their group, her face a wide-known target by now, they enjoyed the best parts of a real, down-to-earth relationship. And along with those came the hardships. As much as he might love her, his heart had a tendency toward brunettes. And she tried to hide her disappointment every time she saw him and Lois "fighting," each argument more sexually charged than the last. She tried to tell herself that it was just a fleeting attraction, but there was only so much denial one person could put up with.

This was the longest any of their tries at being together had lasted; eleven months of a relationship that had been just as incredible as she expected. He was sweet and adorable and just as loving as she always knew he'd be. If she hadn't been in love with him over the years, she fell hard for him as soon as he fumbled over asking her out for dinner on a more than friendly date.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, standing in front of her desk and staring down at her with that all-too-familiar smile of his. The one that seemed too nice in a world made of deception.

"Hi Clark," she greeted, grinning up at him. "I thought you'd be down the street eating lunch by now."

"I could say the same for you," he replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Why, uh, why aren't you taking a break?"

She glanced around the near empty surroundings of her office. "I guess I just got caught up. You know me." She shrugged, leaning back in her chair.

"Are you hungry?"

There was something in his face that gave away his nervousness and her brow furrowed.

"This isn't some weird Bizarro attack I don't know about, is it?" she queried, frowning.

"What?" His eyes widened, hands lifting. "No! What makes you think that?"

"Uh, maybe because you're acting really weird right now. How many lunches have we shared in the past?" She chuckled. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were asking me out on a date."

He blushed.

Her smiled faded. "Oh... Are you?"

"Well... I-I mean, I just... I thought..." he fumbled for the right words until finally just blurting out, "You want to?"

"Like... Like a real date?" She stared up at him rather hopefully and then scowled again. "Are you sure this isn't a Bizarro attack?"

He grinned. "I'm sure. Now are you hungry or not?"

She smiled, standing up from her seat and feeling that familiar flutter in her stomach. Maybe her luck was changing.

It had been as close to smooth sailing as she could expect when the two of them got together. The danger magnet that she was never really faded, if anything she seemed to get into more trouble. And he was, as usual, always there to get her out of whatever weird situation she got herself into. Except now, he was more affectionate after saving her. And she relished in those moments. Where it wasn't just a fleeting glance of worry anymore, but a full on thankful smile of his directed just at her. It was his hands wandering every inch of her body, just to make absolute sure that she had no life-threatening injuries she might've overlooked. He wasn't holding back and she loved that she no longer had to; freedom at last. Clark Kent was all hers; finally!

The first time they made love, it started out awkward but fell into being just right. She felt so tiny against his large frame. As the months passed, she became more and more sure that they really were mean to be together, until now. Eleven months, nine days - and some part of her didn't want to give up, didn't want to back down after finally, finally getting him. But there comes a point in life when a person can either choose to let themselves fall to the wayside, to become less than who they are, or to rise up to their full potential, to let go of all that's holding them back and break free. And while Clark was her most treasured friend and would always have a place in her heart, he was holding her back.

She was less of herself with him. He was the hero and she was the sidekick. She let story after story pass her by because she couldn't back up what she'd seen or done; not without putting his or many other identities at risk. And sometimes she really did want to be the damsel in distress, if only because she liked the strength and protection his arms around her gave. But then other days, she hated how he hounded her, always certain that she was no doubt in danger, always having one of his super-hearing ears open for her cries of help. She didn't always need him; didn't always need his super-strength or his abilities to get her through. She was capable and intelligent and she'd been around long enough to know the tricks of the trade. Having an alien for a boyfriend meant constant supervision and sometimes she didn't like being under the microscope.

But that she could handle; that she could come to accept because he had a valid reason. It was the way he looked at Lois that made her reevaluate them. The way he grinned just a little bigger, how his laugh was a littler deeper, how he didn't hold back what he was thinking in her presence. And while she wanted to ignore it, tried to pretend she didn't see it, it was always there, staring her in the face. She couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't be second best forever and she refused to become that to the one man she was sure saw her for her.

She sat him down one night, just before he would have donned the blue and red suit and tossed the glasses elsewhere.

Those four words escaped her mouth with finality that made her eyes burn. "We need to talk."

He looked confused; she almost took it back because right then he really did look like the humble farm boy from so long ago.

He sat across from her, his hands in his lap, clenched tightly like he already knew what was coming, but his face held everything from worry to understanding. "I love you," he said and she knew it was true.

"I love you too," she murmured, blinking furiously. She let out a soft laugh, riddled with sadness. "More than anything, Clark Kent." She said his name with such fondness, the kind that could only build after a decade of knowing a person. Of being so close to one man, she knew his every secret, his every quirk and downfall. This was Clark; the big, dumb alien.

"Then why..." He stared at her, his expression one of sorrow.

She sighed shakily before reaching out and stroking his face. God, he was so handsome. He always had been. Those green eyes of his would be her downfall if she kept staring into them like she was. "Because destiny has someone else for you."

He shook his head, reaching for her other hand, holding it warmly in his large palm. "No." He shook his head. "Chloe, please... Is it the Superman thing, because... I can stop."

She shook her head, frowning. "No you can't. And you shouldn't." She smiled gently. "And I wouldn't want you to." She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "God, you've been my own personal savior for years, Clark. The rest of the world should know that; feel that! You're... You're a hero."

He licked his lips, face falling, eyes looking away from her. "Why? I thought... We were doing okay, weren't we?"

"Yes..." She nodded. Just last week, they'd spent the entire day making love and she wished she could go back to that moment. To have his large, warm body covering hers. The feelings he evoked still, the touch that was so soft and yet so strong... His kisses, peppered over her skin, nose nuzzling her stomach. If only...

She ran her hand over his hair, stroking his temple tenderly. "Sometimes, I wish I could turn my back on the entire world and keep your for myself," she whispered. She sniffled. "But then I remember that... You're not really mine, Clark."

His brow furrowed as he stared at her in confusion. "I am yours. All of me... I love you, Chloe!"

"I know, I know..." She closed her eyes, willing her strength to come back. "I can't explain it." She lifted her chin, forcing her mouth to stop wobbling. "You'll understand one day, trust me."

He shook his head, now looking angry. "So you're breaking up with me, but you won't tell me the whole reason. Why? I don't get it. I don't..." He sighed in frustration.

She licked her lips, swallowing to wet her dry throat. "I've always been honest with you, with the exception of a few times when I was a stupid teenager." She shook her head. "And I know this is hard for you to understand, but please... please Clark. I'm doing this for both of us."

He looked away before suddenly standing up, his shoulders hunched. "Fine." He swallowed tightly. "But I'm never going to love anyone like I do you... And maybe one day you'll realize that." He turned, hands stuffed in his big red jacket and left the apartment.

She let the tears fall then. "Yes, you will..." She sniffled. "You already do."

Two years later, he married her cousin and she knew then that she was right all along. Clark Kent was meant for Lois Lane... And Chloe Sullivan didn't fit in there; she was just the sidekick, the best friend that had once claimed his heart for her own. But never all of it, never all of him. Because while Clark wouldn't acknowledge it, he may have loved Chloe, but he loved Lois more. Being the person she was, Chloe gathered herself up, brushed off yet another lost chance with the so-called man of her dreams and hoped the next time she fell in love, it wouldn't hurt as much.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**  -  _Oliver Queen_

Her hopes weren't answered.

While he wasn't blessed with any alien superpowers, Oliver Queen was a hero in his own right. A red-blooded man, bent on saving the world and ridding it of people like Lex Luthor. Their relationship didn't start out like most others. They didn't immediately see the attraction between them and he didn't ask her out for coffee to get to know her better. For the longest time, she was just Watchtower- sidekick to Clark Kent and occasional liaison to the Justice League. And then things changed; she worked a little more for the JL and a little less with Clark. She spent a whole lot more time in Oliver's apartment than she did her own and she woke up in his bed so many mornings, she began to forget what her own felt like. It was still platonic; he'd find her passed out at the computer and move her to the more comfortable surroundings of his king-sized bed, wrapping her in a blanket that smelled deliciously like him. She knew she was in trouble when the first thought upon waking up was anticipation for seeing him grin at her as he passed her a cup of coffee, just the way she liked it and greeted her good morning.

It all evolved after a successful mission. The boys had gone out to celebrate while Oliver came back to his apartment to go over the footage of the night, wanting to be absolutely sure everything went off without a hitch. Chloe was practically hopping in her chair, she was proud and excited and exhilarated by her small part in everything. They spent a few hours at the computer, going over files and footage and the hour grew late. There were light, innocent brushes of hands as they went through everything. Maybe she leaned into him more than she needed to and perhaps he whispered against her ear instead of talking freely out loud. And all those little touches, the feel of his breath against her ear, the warmth of his body against her back built up until finally they were staring at each other, each breathing a little heavy, and their lips met together in a hungry kiss.

He carried her to his room, shed his and her clothes so quick, she barely felt it, and then he was inside of her, filling her to the brim, making her cry out with a guttural moan and a whimper of pleasure. He felt so good; so hard and warm and enveloping as his arms wrapped around her, caressing her body from head to toe. His mouth was hot against her face, her throat, her breasts. His fingers were everywhere, massaging and kneading and clutching at her as he sunk into her deeply, drew out and then filled her again and again and  _again_ until she was begging him to go harder, faster. She needed him to make her fly; to make her reach that incredible cliff and explode into a million tiny pieces of ecstasy. And he did, loving her body until she was writhing and clutching him, her ears no longer hearing her own cries or the shudder of the wall behind her as the bed seemed to rock ferociously with their movements. It was just sweet surrender, complete and utter pleasure to the nth degree.

"Oh god, yes," she moaned, her eyes falling closed, brows lifting, mouth falling open. She could feel the vibration of his groan against her neck, his lips smoothing over her shoulder and his gruff voice calling her name.

Theirs was a passionate relationship. He made sure she felt loved; each and every moment they were together. She never doubted his feelings or her own, not for so long she actually thought maybe this was it. This was that  _one_ man who could really and truly love her forever. Because they both knew each others secrets, balancing their lives wasn't as hard as it might be with somebody who didn't understand. She was there every night when he came home from patrolling, whether he was hurt or just pumped up. The rest of the team found out quickly; it was rather hard to hide a relationship from people always on the look out. It didn't help that for the first while, they had trouble keeping their hands off each other. More than once, the League had walked in on intimate activities.

They lived back and forth between Star City and Metropolis. She loved Queen Manor and everybody who helped keep it looking homey. She learned more about Oliver's family, the parents who had such an influence on him. While they kept up their superhero business behind doors, she realized quickly that being the girlfriend of a billionaire meant a whole lot of floor length gowns and hobnobbing with the rich and snobby. It made for a few juicy stories, but she wasn't a tabloid columnist so much of it was useless gossip. The best part was always the end, where Oliver would slowly strip her of every last inch of silk and lace and thoroughly thank her for putting up with the boring aspects of the galas.

It wasn't long before she realized her feelings for him were growing rapidly. At first she'd wondered if maybe it was just the sexual chemistry they shared, but it didn't take long for her to fall for his charm. While being a stoic and strong character for the League, he was far more gentle and tender behind doors. Some of the best afternoons were spent cuddling on the couch, music playing faintly in the background while he napped with his arms wrapped around her tightly. When he let his guard down, he was easily one of the most loving men she'd ever known. He didn't keep anything from her and she reveled in the honesty she could have with him. For too long it seemed she held all the secrets of the world.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her randomly, whispering against her ear, his hands sliding down her sides to sit purposefully at her hips.

She tipped her head back until it met his shoulder and stared up at him with a grin. "I think I should have my own suit," she suggested.

His brows lifted. "Custom leather?"

She nodded. "Bright red."

"Skin tight." He ran his hands around to her front, sliding them up her stomach and over her ribs.

"Zipper in the back," she murmured, winking.

He chuckled lowly before his hands cupped her breasts and his mouth ducked to kiss her throat. "I think that's doable."

She let her eyes fall closed, pressing back into him. " _Very_."

Lois had been a little uncertain about the relationship, but then since she was currently trying to brush off the fact that she was doing Superman, she couldn't really point fingers. So she accepted it, with a few lazy remarks to Oliver about keeping it in the family just to bug him. When she realized her little cousin was happy, that was all that really mattered to her. And Chloe was more than just happy, she was ecstatic. Oliver made her feel things that she'd always expected from Clark but never quite reached. It was an all new branch of love, deeper and stronger than ever before.

And then it all fell apart.

She died. It wasn't on purpose and she hadn't explained to him that gift (of sorts) she had and he'd been broken and lost and didn't know what to do. So when she came back, he was even more lost and broken. He didn't quite look at her the same; it wasn't his fault, it was a hard thing to lose someone you love and then have them back. The passion was still there; even more so, in fact. He seemed to make love to her more and more during those few weeks following her twenty-seven hour tango with death. He kissed her as if he thought it'd be the last time and he held her tighter than usual, just wanting to hold on for a little while longer. But she couldn't be the fear at the back of his mind, not forever, and it wasn't fading. He kept looking at her like he thought she'd collapse at any second. When he was hurt from night patrols or a mission, he refused to let her touch him. He wouldn't come near her until it was entirely healed, all on its own, which sometimes meant weeks of not touching or kissing him. She tried to explain that she only died if the other person was near death or already there but he didn't want to tempt it.

"I can't keep doing this," she finally told him, watching as he sat on the couch surrounded by folders, his wrist wrapped in a brace and lip still bruised from where it'd been split open.

He looked up at her, his expression stoically unemotional. "Doing what?" he asked.

She glared at him, clenching her hands at her sides so they'd stop shaking. " _This_ , Oliver. How long is it going to be this time before you let me touch you?" She shook her head, her brows furrowed. "I can't even  _hug_ you!"

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, his jaw clenched for a moment. "It'll heal soon. It won't be that long."

"That's not the  _point_. The point is that I can't love you like that. I can't be with you, I can't touch you, I can barely sleep next to you because you flinch even in your sleep just at the slightest movement I make." Her voice started to waver and she swallowed tightly. "You can't love someone that you're afraid of," she told him, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'm not afraid  _of_ you, I'm afraid  _for_ you," he said lowly. "There's a huge difference."

She bit her lip, lowering to sit in a seat and clasping her hands in front of her. "Can you honestly tell me..." She took a breath, "That you love me the same you did before you knew that I could..." She didn't want to say it.

"That you could give your life for someone else and come back?" he finished, almost sounding bitter. "Yes, Chloe, I love you. Why is that so hard to understand? Your power doesn't disgust me or turn me off, it  _scares_ me. Not of you, but of losing you." He stared at her, the fear he repressed so often, clear in his eyes now. "And I can't promise you that I'll ever stop thinking of it. That I won't constantly worry that maybe this time... you just won't wake up."

She covered her eyes with her hands, inhaling shakily. "And I can't..." She swallowed the gurgle of emotion in her throat. "I can't pretend it doesn't hurt every time you flinch away from me, Oliver." She wiped her face, hating that she was crying and lowered her hands, looking back at him through damp lashes. "We go days and weeks and possibly months without touching... All because you're scared I'll heal you."

"I don't want to turn over one night and find you  _dead_ ," he reminded loudly.

"And that fear is never going to go away," she shouted, rising from her chair. "You're always going to worry; you're always going to pull away from me. I can't... I can't  _do_  that, Ollie."

His face became stricken, chin bowing. "What are you saying?" His voice was quiet, low as if he was trying not to show any emotion on the subject.

She took a deep breath. What was she saying? It had all been going so well for so long... He'd been the best boyfriend she'd ever had. Attentive and loving, passionate and laid back, giving his all for everything he believed in, giving all of himself to make her happy. And his touch still sent shivers throughout her skin, his kiss still made the whole of her tremble. She  _loved_ him entirely and she didn't want to stop, but... But that fear in his eyes just wasn't going to go away and each time he pulled away from her, she felt another dig at her heart. Once upon a time, he'd touch her and vow never to let go. He'd hold her all through the night, his body wrapped around hers so tight she wasn't sure where he ended and she began. He made love to her with every fiber of himself; he taught her parts of her body could respond in ways she'd never imagined. And now here she was, readying herself to let go of him.

"I'm saying..." Her voice gave out and she blinked rapidly, biting her lip.

He stared up at her, a sheen of tears across the warm brown eyes she'd adored for so long.

She sighed. "You should be with someone who makes you feel like you're invincible."

A tear escaped his eyes and his gaze lowered to stare at the floor.

She reached out to brush it away but he winced and her arm stopped mid-air, her fingers curling against her palm. She knew then she'd made the right choice. "Goodbye Oliver," she whispered before turning around and walking out of the apartment she'd called home for the last two years.

Four years later, he'd find the woman who made him fearless; Dinah Lance. And despite staying friends with Oliver, she didn't seem him nearly as much in the years to come. He'd told her a few times that whenever she wanted to start up again, he was there and he was waiting. And she knew he was; he would welcome her with open arms. But only if he was free of injury. He refused to let her heal him, no matter how small the scratch. And while he'd always have a special place in her heart, she knew it was best that they stay friends and associates through the League. He went on to help save the world and she continued to do her part in helping every way she could. Even if he broke her heart, he taught her things about herself and the world that she'd never forget. And a part of her would forever stay up in that watchtower, keeping the broken heart of Green Arrow company.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**  - _Jack (OC)_

For a long time, she vowed never to love again. The two greatest loves of her life had made her feel like a pitiful replica of herself. She'd been asked out by many and she'd politely declined each. She wasn't ready; she wasn't mended enough yet. Even with her healing abilities, it seemed her heart was forever going to ache. And then one day, she met Jack. He was a Metropolis police officer that successfully knocked out a purse snatcher and handed her the contents of her life back while barely losing any breath over it. She later found he was a bit of a hero, himself. He'd won awards for going out of his way to clean up the streets of Metropolis. He'd been a witness in a mob case, never letting the death threats stop him from bringing one of the biggest crime rings in Metropolis to, at the very least, a pause. He was an Average Joe policeman with a warm smile and a good heart.

She surprised herself when she said yes to his proposal of a date. She barely knew him and she later blamed it on shock after the whole purse fiasco. But it turned out well; he was funny and nice and handsome. Not quite as good looking as her last two boyfriends, but he had clear blue eyes and soft brown hair and when he kissed her at the end of the night, she felt a fire light up in her stomach that she'd sorely missed. They dated innocently for a few weeks, with her still unsure to really let him in. Until finally one night, she couldn't take the simple hand holding and goodnight kiss anymore. He'd been sweet and patient, but she'd seen the heat in his eyes and she knew her own were replicating it. She wanted more; she wanted to try just one more time. And she did; she let herself go, put her heart on the line again.

There was a normality with Jack that she'd sorely missed in her last relationships. She didn't have to worry that he'd become some distant alien relative of his or that he'd pull away from her every time he was injured. He leaned into her touch when he came home banged up. He had no family to speak of, just a bunch of friends that loved a good barbecue and campouts on the beach. It was easy and refreshing and she enjoyed days where she wasn't constantly afraid or worried. Sure, he was a cop and he was in danger a lot, but he was capable and strong and she trusted him. Maybe not with everything, but enough to let herself be  _herself_.

He knew all of her little quirks; learned them like the back of his hand. He went out of his way to make her feel comfortable. On nights she spent at his place, just watching a DVD, she'd find the cupboards stocked with her favorite coffee and he knew just the way she liked it. He let her rent chick flicks, which he didn't like but he put up with. He massaged her hands when she got home from work, the rough calluses of his fingers somehow incredibly nice against her soft skin. And when he kissed her temple as she fell asleep against him, she felt adored.

The first time she was introduced to his best friend, she knew it was going to last longer than a few weeks.

"So you're the infamous Chloe," Brady said, grinning at her. "He said you were beautiful, but damn.."

"Lay off," Jack said, his arm wrapping around her waist. "She'd never waste her time on you."

Brady laughed. "Yeah, well, not when she's got you wrapped around her finger, eh?"

Jack just grinned before running his hand up and down her side.

"All right, I'll bet you twenty bucks I get a dance out of her tonight." He nodded to his best friend and Jack sighed, lifting a shoulder.

"You're on."

Jack then proceeded to dance with her for most of the night and when her feet were so tired she couldn't do it anymore, he lifted her up until her legs were wrapped around his waist and continued to circle the floor, smirking at Brady as he leaned against the bar. She laughed, laying her head on Jack's shoulder and enjoying the night as it went. Finally, Brady gave in and offered to buy them dinner instead of hand over the twenty and they walked down to a diner that would later become one of  _their_ places. Jack would show up at Isis and give her that grin as he leaned against the doorway, which always made her grab her purse and her jacket and walk away from the work that she'd been buried in for hours to enjoy a nice banter filled dinner with a guy that expected absolutely nothing work related. He just wanted his girlfriend; just Chloe. Not Watchtower, or Sidekick or the intrepid reporter that could hack into just about anything.

It was blissful for a year and a half. They moved in together, christened every corner of their new apartment and gradually, she fell for him. She was still wary from her last relationship over whether to tell him about her powers and so she kept them to herself. He didn't need to know about her extracurricular work for the League or her dangerous story-searching techniques as a freelance investigative reporter. He worked a lot, had to get up in the middle of the night and go out to homicide sites while she filled the large bed on her lonesome. But with her own busy schedule, she never resented him for the odd hours he kept.

He always came home for lunch and she fixed something up for them while he sat at the kitchen table. Usually, it ended with a lustful quickie, which she was always happy to encourage. It wasn't all about sex though; he was a smart man that she had no trouble keeping up a conversation with. Each lunch was filled with a new topic, something for them to debate over and really get down to the very grit of the topic. She loved that about them. But one day was different; the day the good life spiraled downward.

He came home annoyed, nearly slamming the door. He kissed her temple absently before he collapsed in the seat at the table. "I swear, the weirdness of Smallville is starting to seep over here," he called out to her.

Her shoulders tensed. "Why do you say that?" she asked curiously, her brows furrowing as she continued to make their sandwiches.

"I've had three bizarre attacks in the last two weeks - both of the guys were from Smallville, lived there during the last shower." He muttered something under his breath. "I've heard the meteors give some of them freaky powers. And these two could attest to it. Fucking nut jobs."

She swallowed tightly. "W-What'd they do?"

"Ah, you don't wanna hear about it," he sighed. "Just wish they'd lock ‘em all up so I'd have a few less freaks to worry about."

She blinked rapidly, her stomach dropping out.

He sighed. "Anyway, what'd you do today, babe?"

"Uh, I... I just went out with, um Lois earlier... Caught up." She was distracted, trying to sort out everything in her head.

She didn't hear his footsteps but she jumped slightly as his arms wrapped around her, his lips smoothing against her neck. "Have I told you how beautiful you look today?"

She smiled shakily. "I look like crap," she disagreed.

He kissed her ear and down her throat, his hands stroking her stomach. "You're blind." The faint whiskers of his jaw tickled her shoulder. "I'm the luckiest guy in the city," he murmured softly.

Her eyes fell closed and she leaned back into his chest. She turned her head to kiss his cheek. "Or the most delusional."

He grinned. "Yeah, well this crazy police officer needs a shower." His hands slid up her front, thumbs stroking the undersides of her breasts. "It's been a...  _dirty_ morning." His hot breath skittered over her skin. "Care to help me clean up?"

She turned in his arms, nuzzling his nose with hers. "I have a feeling I'd only make you dirtier."

He brushed his lips against hers. "I'm willing to test your theory."

She forgot all about what he said, let herself drown in the warm, familiar touch.

But as the weeks went by, it seemed more and more "meteor freaks" were coming into Metropolis and Jack had an opinion on all of them. "They're a menace, babe. I know you're all for rights, but these guys are screwy in the head. They're hurting innocent people. It's my job to stop them!" She knew it was; the dangerous ones anyway. But his opinion was quickly becoming all encompassing. Every single meteor infected person must be a dangerous freak. And it was starting to scare her, the ferocity with which he began to hate them. Just like if they were part of organized crime, he started trying to work out ways to get rid of them, to get them hauled away as quickly as possible. And she knew Jack; she knew that he'd never stop until he saw all of them behind bars or institutionalized.

Her feelings for him began to wane. She still loved him, but it was overpowered with her distrust of him. She couldn't be herself, was too afraid to admit anything too personal, worried that he'd somehow connect her to the meteors, figure her out and burn her at the stake, figuratively. Until one day, she had enough. He'd been ranting and raving about the last meteor freak attack and she was almost ready to throw up.

"Jack?" He kept talking, ignoring her entirely.

"-goddamn freaks have been stealing shit all over town. I know it's them. It always is."

" _Jack?_ " she tried again, putting more force into her voice.

"I've been talking to my chief, trying to figure out a way to get the records over in Smallville, see just who was around back at the last shower, you know?"

"JACK!"

He lifted his head, looked over at her with a frown. "What's wrong?"

She bit her lip, swallowing thickly. "I just... Can we not talk about them?" She shook her head slowly, hopefully. "Please?"

He smiled gently, reaching out and taking her hands. "I'm sorry... I should've thought... You don't to be afraid of them though, babe. I promise you, I'm going to get them off the streets."

He looked so earnest and she really wanted to just cry. She shook her head, drawing her hands away from him before standing up from the couch. She took a breath, not sure what to do in that moment and then she nodded, turning around to stare at him. "I lived in Smallville. I probably... I probably knew the people who've been... causing all of these problems." She licked her lips, eyes falling. "And I know... first hand, I know... Just how dangerous and scary they can be. But... I also know that there are some who _aren't_ dangerous." She stared at him, her heart pounding in her ears. "I'm infected, Jack," she finally whispered. "And I'd never hurt a soul, you know that."

He stared at her, his expression fading back and forth from shock to anger. "You're..."

She wiped her face. "I can heal people... I can bring them back from death... Not like, not like zombies though." She chuckled slightly, uncomfortably. "I just..." She lifted her hands, staring at him. "You know me... You know who I am... Do you honestly think that I would... That I would do what they did? Do you really think so little of me just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time? I mean..." Her chin wobbled. "You still love me... Don't you?" Her brow furrowed.

"You're..." He swallowed. "You're one of  _them_."

He said it with such disgust that she actually flinched _._

"I'm  _me_ ," she replied, starting at him seriously. "I'm just  _me_ , Jack."

He bowed his head, ran his hands through his hair, muttering under his breath. "Maybe we can fix you," he finally said, looking up at her with searching eyes. "There's gotta be a cure, right?" She didn't answer. "Right?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm sure Luthor is cooking one up as we speak," she spat, turning her head away and wiping a tear from her eye. "I don't want it... I don't want to be  _cured_. I like who I am... I like what I can do."

"I'm sure they all do at first... ‘Til it gets to their heads." He stood up, his arms out. "Chloe... It's not right. People aren't supposed to have these powers... When a person is dead, they should _stay_  dead." He stared at her, eyes wide, brows lifted.

"Not everybody." She shook her head. "There are good people out there, trying to do good for the world, and sometimes they just... They get hurt. Don't they deserve a second chance? Don't they deserve to live?" She licked her lips. "It's not hurting anybody, Jack. It's just... It's a _gift_."

He shook his head. "No, it's a meteor shower gone wrong, is what it is." His hands found his hips. "We'll find a way to reverse it... There's- There's gotta be a way." He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes moving back and forth, as if searching for some kind of way. "You said Luthor was cooking one up... Lex Luthor?"

She stilled, her stomach clenching. "He's a monster," she told him firmly. "I wouldn't take a cure from him; it'd likely  _kill_  me. And he'd just have a science project!"

Jack licked his lips, walking toward her. "But if he has the answer... Chloe!" He grinned. "He could save you. He could make you _better_."

She stepped away from him. "You're not listening to me. I don't want a cure." She shook her head. "I don't need it. Not every person who's infected is bad, Jack. There've been a few mistakes. A few people have screwed up and they just happened to be infected. But... normal people screw up too... We don't look for a cure for them!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I won't do it."

He frowned. "You won't even consider it?"

"It my  _life_ , Jack. I won't put it in the hands of that maniac."

"Oh that's rich coming from a freak," he shouted.

She saw the flash of regret cross his face a second later but she took a step back quickly, shaking her head. "No. Don't you even try to take that back." She lifted a hand as if to keep him at arms length. "Just stay away from me."

"Chloe, please... I didn't mean it... I love you."

"And I love you." She walked backwards, breathing heavy and listening to the loud pounding of her heart in ears. "I loved  _all_  of you..."

"We can fix this."

She closed her eyes, biting her lip. "I'll have my stuff out by the weekend," she whispered before turning around and leaving the apartment, closing it behind her and rushing toward the elevator. She didn't break down until she was three blocks away, checked into a motel and hidden in the darkness of the room. She fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed until she was nothing but a boneless heap lying on the floor, breathless and all cried out. She stared at the crack of light beneath the door, her mind elsewhere. Remembering days when things had been carefree, when Jack had never given Smallville or meteor freaks a second thought. Where he could cuddle with her on the couch all night, watching sitcoms and reruns and kissing her neck and shoulders until she finally turned over in his arms and kissed him back. She thought of all the nights she spent sleeping right next to him, his arm thrown over her waist, his breath beating against the back of her neck. All the mornings she woke up to see him shaving or shared the shower with him. She closed her eyes, wishing she'd stop remembering all the "I love you's" and the promises of forever and more.

It was over. Just like all the rest. She'd go by and get her stuff while he was at work and bring it... She sighed. Maybe it was time to get out of Metropolis entirely. Seemed every hero there loved her for a time and broke her heart in the end. Crawling up from the floor, she slid onto the cold bed and fell asleep with resigned sadness. In the following few years, she'd later learn that Jack was killed in the line of duty, while saving a group of children from a robbery gone haywire. Nobody involved was infected. He died the hero she always knew he was. She never saw him again after that night but she thought of him from time to time. Of the Jack she'd loved, the one untouched by hatred. She hoped he remembered her likewise.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**  -  _Bruce Wayne_

After Metropolis, Chloe found herself in a city much the opposite. Gotham. It seemed darkness had crept into every crevice and corner, dragging the people down with it. The only bright spot seemed to be set on Wayne Industries, a beacon of hope for the rest of the city. She was given a job at the Gotham Gazette, with barely any real interview to be had. So many of the people were just trying to get by day to day that they rarely cared. Since her mood fit so well with the city, she figured the only way to make herself happy was to do her best at helping Gotham become a better place. And the only way she knew how to do that was to bring to light the darkness and hope that somebody had the fortitude to take what she gave them and put it to good use. She was a little foolhardy, she could admit that. When it came down to it, very little scared her. So walking the streets at night wasn't something she avoided like so many others and chasing down the stories that would easily put her in front of the firing squad was a daily occurrence.

This was how she came to meet her fiancé. Of course, at the time he was just another hero, dressed in black and had a fetish for rodents. When he appeared, she assumed he was expecting more than just a general nod in his direction as she crouched low, tape recorder and hand-held satellite in hand. "Uh, you wanna duck there Batman? I'm trying to stay hidden here."

With a sigh, he bent low next to her and though she couldn't see his brows, she was sure one was raised questioningly. "You shouldn't be here," he said, in a growl that likely would've scared many before her. But given her lifestyle, all it did was remind her that she hadn't been properly laid in far too long. She shook the thought off and glanced back at him.

"I'm sure they'd agree with you," she replied, amused.

"You're going to get yourself killed," he told her firmly.

"And if I do, that will be my fault and not yours," she said, reminded of the last two superheroes who were always looking after her, certain she was walking headfirst into danger at every corner.

He sneered, lips curling. He had really nice teeth she thought absently. "It's my job to keep Gotham safe; that includes everybody who lives here."

"And it's my job to get the dirt on these crooks," she replied, staring at him stubbornly. "You have your ways and I have mine. As you can see, mine includes less Kevlar."

She could tell he was getting frustrated, if the heavy sigh wasn't enough. "You can either leave quietly and safely or I can force you away, kicking and screaming."

"If I kicked and screamed, they'd catch on. If I leave now, I'll miss all the juicy parts. Hmm..." She narrowed her eyes in mock-thought. "I think I'll  _stay_."

"You have no idea what you're getting into."

She snorted. "Trust me, batboy, I know  _exactly_ what I'm getting into."

He disappeared without a sound, but she had a feeling he was watching over her, just in case she really did get in trouble. Luckily, that night, she managed to escape with everything she needed and her head still on her shoulders. Her byline hit the papers the next morning, after much arguing with her editor, who was woken up from his dreary funk to tell her she was practically painting a target on her face. She didn't care. In the next few months, she'd be the top writer of the Gotham Gazette, selling more papers than they'd seen in ages. She helped Chief Gordon in his search for justice and she met Batman more often than he probably liked. He always looked frustrated to find her out and about, showing up in the most obscure places. And he'd saved her once or thirteen times, much to her chagrin. The Gotham underworld didn't like her, not one little bit, and they made sure she knew it.

But she was a hard person to crack and she didn't give in to the death threats or the bombs in her third car in the first seven months she lived there. She didn't hide in her apartment or stop going out to find the  _real_ story. It only made her work harder, made her try her best to get Gotham back to its roots, before crime and rage had taken it over. And while it was taking a long time, she was doing her part and it was helping.

The first time she met Bruce Wayne, she was sure she'd seen his smile somewhere. It was unusually familiar. She brushed it off; she'd seen a number of beautiful smiles in her lifetime and one of them was from another billionaire she'd known quite well. Bruce was arrogant and charming and he played it well. But she'd known two other billionaires in her lifetime and they were good at putting up a façade too. So she didn't take him at face value and despite how often he seemed to be waiting for her to interview him, she never once did.

"I believe this is sixth time I've been introduced to you, Miss Sullivan," he said one night, as they both stood surrounded by Gotham's elite, celebrating something or other.

"Six already?" she replied, tipping her head in thought. "And here I thought I had better things to do than go to your galas."

He smiled slightly. "Yes, I've noticed how busy you've been. I read your column each morning."

"Scintillating stuff, I'm sure. For a man who's sitting comfortably up in his high-priced, well-secured penthouse, you must feel quite safe though." Her apartment was dingy, barely enough to hold her and her many files. But she refused to let Oliver pay for a safer, more comfortable place. They were friends still and she kept in contact with the League, giving them a hand when needed, but she wouldn't let him buy her an apartment. He wanted her away from the danger, but he had no idea that she wanted to be right in the middle of it. Had to be if she wanted the big scoop; the dirty details; the real core of the story. She wasn't going to hide behind a high-class security system; the bat she kept next to her bed would work just fine. Solid steel and aimed for the face.

He stared at her a moment, lips curling at the corners. "I suppose I do." He nodded slightly. "Your honesty is refreshing."

"You say that now, but just wait until you ask the wrong question." She smiled. He wasn't quite so stiff as she'd seen him in the past.

"And what would the wrong question be?" he queried, lifting a brow.

"If I told you that, it'd ruin my fun." She tipped her champagne glass to clink with his. "Nice seeing you again, Mr. Wayne, enjoy your night," she said before turning on her heel and leaving him. She was out of her floor length gown, one of the many she'd worn out while on the arm of Oliver, and back into a pair of jeans and a warm sweater before anybody could question her disappearance. And then it was back to work, scouring the city for more of its cretins, looking for the real story.

For an hour, she was concealed by the darkness, blending right into the grimy surroundings as she walked the streets silently, hands stuffed in her pockets, shoulders hunched, giving nothing away to make anyone assume she was a well-known reporter. He swooped down next to her as she took a shortcut through an alley. She barely heard the rustle of his cape before he was at her side.

"Intrepid reporters don't celebrate New Years?"

So  _that_ was what the gala had been for. Hmm... Never even crossed her mind. "We have better things to do," she replied easily. "Apparently, bats don't either."

"We have better things to do," he reiterated.

She smiled. "And what are you doing tonight that's so special? Besides stalking me, of course."

"I prefer the term protecting. You have a bad habit of getting shot at."

She was fairly sure he was smirking. "And you have a bad habit of taking the bullet for me," she snarked, rolling her eyes.

"Gets easier every day."

"Glad I could help."

He looked over at her with a frown. "Where are you headed?"

"Not sure yet. Have you seen any suspicious behavior?" When he didn't answer, she grinned. "Right. I should probably be more specific." She turned to him. "Any mob bosses nearby?"

"What makes you think I'd show you?"

"Because despite how often you discourage my behavior, I think deep down you appreciate what I'm doing." She stared at him, all trussed up in the darkest of blacks, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

"I'm not sure which is more trouble... You or the guys over on fifth avenue."

She smirked, winking at him in thanks before she turned back around. "You gonna join me or-" She sighed as she glanced back to find him missing. "It's common courtesy to say  _goodbye_ ," she shouted upward, hoping he heard.

When she met Bruce the next time, he was sitting in her office, reading a Forbes magazine and looking much too comfortable in her not-exactly updated surroundings. Looked like the furniture hadn't been replaced since the eighties and her computer was prehistoric. Thankfully, she had her laptop. If she hadn't been told he was in her office, she would've stayed home to work on her latest piece, but here she was, walking through the door that still bore the name of the last known reporter and taking a seat in the squeaky chair behind her desk.

"How can I help you, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, lifting a brow. She really didn't have time for hobnobbing.

He smiled slowly. "It's come to my attention that I haven't welcomed our newest reporter sufficiently. You've been doing Gotham a great service and I felt it was only in my best interests to get to know you better."

She smiled slightly. "Somehow I get the feeling that I've surpassed the timeline most people thought I'd survive... Are you just coming to the conclusion I might actually be here to stay?"

His expression was warmer than she expected. "I'm hoping you will."

She nodded before standing up. "Well... Seeing as you interrupted by lunch, why don't you make it up to me?"

He grinned though it didn't quite reach his eyes and stood from his seat. "I believe I can do that." He offered her an arm and she took it, feeling that familiar tightening in her stomach.

What started out as an innocent lunch date quickly became so much more. Despite telling herself it wasn't a good idea to get involved with him, she couldn't stop herself. They kept it casual for the first while; lunch dates and dinners that ended with nothing but a wistful goodbye. As handsome and enticing as Bruce was, she feared anything more than friendship was asking for trouble. If it wasn't his multi-billionaire status, it was the constant toe tag chasing after her. But as she continued to try and keep him at a distance, he broke through with very little resistance. The first time they kissed, she was sure someone had literally set her on fire. She was so absorbed however, she didn't even consider pulling away and calling for help. She was fully ready to die if it meant her last few moments would be connected to his lips.

She knew about his side-life long before he ever thought of telling her. She finally recognized that mouth; the smile that had always quirked her investigative itch. The illustrious Bruce Wayne was in fact, Batman. The not-so-subtle superhero who never refrained from telling her how dangerous it was for her to be walking the streets at night. It wasn't long before her boyfriend was singing the same tune, only in a much less low and growling tone. She didn't tell him. She instead waited to see how long it would be before he finally told her. Obviously he needed to know he could trust her and so it took some time before he let her know anything related to that side of himself.

She was pretty sure he blamed himself when the one time she got shot was the one and only time he hadn't been in town to watch over the city by roof top, flying in to save the day. Despite her powers, she wasn't able to heal herself like she often wished and so she was left in a dank little alleyway, one of her many unappreciative readers running off with his laughter trailing back to her. Her vision faded; her last thought was of how she hoped she had at least been worth a million dollar bullet. When she woke back up, she was in the newly built Gotham General, heavily guarded and shrouded by long white curtains on three sides of her.

The bearded and overly tired looking man sitting in the chair next to her bed was sure to have a kink in his neck when he woke up. She smiled slightly, just staring at him for a moment. He looked like he'd been there for awhile if the scruff around his jaw was anything to go by. He was always freshly shaved and in his prime for the many on-lookers. He had to keep up an image after all. The dark marks beneath his eyes told her he hadn't been sleeping much and she wondered just how long she'd been out. She reached out for him, the various tubes connected to her wrist hindering her slightly. She gathered up her strength and managed to brush the brown bangs from his forehead, her fingertips grazing his skin lightly. He stirred, brow furrowing as it often did when he woke up, the troubles of the city resting on his shoulders once more. He blinked slightly, still asleep. She ran her thumb over one of his eyebrows, tracing the hollow of his eye and down to his cheek, letting her three middle fingers wander over the plains of his face delicately. Then his eyes opened fully and he sat forward, alert and awake, taking her hand into his, holding it tightly.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low.

"So it would seem," she murmured, her throat scratchy. "How long...?" She lifted a questioning brow.

"Four days," he replied, eyes falling. "They weren't sure you'd..."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm fine." She smiled at him. "Nearly die and I don't even get a kiss hello?"

He smiled at her, leaning across the bed to smooth his lips across hers. She sighed lightly, her arm raising, hand falling to the back of his neck, fingers threading in his dark hair. He kissed her deeply, passionately, sparing no show of affection as he thoroughly tangled his tongue with hers, his lips melding with hers so much, she wasn't sure which was her mouth and which was his. When he drew back, she was panting slightly and a whole lot more awake.

"That's more like it," she whispered, grinning.

He took his seat back at her side, his hand running down the side of her face, pushing her blonde hair away. "If I'd been here..."

"It's not your fault," she told him, shaking her head. "I told you... If I die, it's my fault, not yours."

His brow furrowed, lips pursing. "You know..."

"You doubted?" She lifted a brow.

He half-smiled. "Guess I don't have to worry about all that flirting you've been doing with my alter-ego."

She chuckled. "Completely harmless."

After her umpteenth near death experience, he made sure her security was at an all-time high and for awhile, she was all right with that, until he wanted them to go with her while she was out looking for the next scoop. She drew the line there. They'd get her caught and everybody would be out looking for the woman surrounded by the six giants all dressed in suits and talking into their cuff links. It was an on-going fight, but he let her have her way. Mostly because in the end, she'd sneak out; she learned quick how to get around his security system.

Being the girlfriend of Bruce Wayne didn't make her any more liked by the mob. Instead, they found another reason to get rid of her. Wayne Industries only helped the city, making it more productive and sparking hope in its patrons, which didn't help any of the crime rings out in the least. So they figured targeting her would bring Bruce down a notch, all it did was serve to piss him off. Or, probably more dangerous, it pissed Batman off.

During the three years of their relationship, she was in many minor scrapes, but nothing too life threatening. Most of the time, she could come back to the apartment, which he'd half-forced her to move into with him, and she had only half-argued over, and have Alfred clean her up. Sometimes, he could be like a mother-hen though. Muttering over how dangerous both she and Master Bruce were, always getting into trouble and coming home bloodied and broken. She wasn't allowed to sit on the white sofa for three months after she accidentally got blood on it one time. He'd give her that look and she'd immediately sigh before moving to sit elsewhere.

It came as no surprise to anybody but her when Bruce proposed. She was comfortable in their relationship; he fought danger by night while she chased down leads, and during the day they were simply Bruce and Chloe. Plus she couldn't really deny the fact that after he got back from patrolling, the adrenaline still pumping through them both made for some great "glad you're okay" sex. More than once, they'd been interrupted by Alfred telling them they were bothering the neighbors and he couldn't sleep a wink. He was a great lover; tender but rough, soft but hard, loving but angry. Lying in bed with him, she often forgot about the darkness outside. Because under those covers, their bodies entwined, he was just Bruce to her. With his arrogant smirk and loving eyes, filled with a darkness that she swore only disappeared right after they made love, where he seemed so content, so utterly spent, so blissful that nothing could tear him down.

She could spend hours listening to the thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear. The only thing that came close was the click clack of her laptop. He could made her warm with one heated look from his eyes, make her wet with a simple growl, make her want him with just a twitch of his lips. And he never forgot it, either. He relished in the many ways he could make her body respond while barely even touching her. Similarly, she found she had nearly as much power over him. She could tell from just the tilt of his head what he was thinking when she gave him that special smile. Could anticipate that look he'd give her whenever she sent him one of her own. And she wasn't unaware of how often he wished he could shed his Batman gear and take her against the dirty wall of the city.

But when he knelt down that night, while they sat in front of the fireplace, dressed in a couple of robes and bare beneath, she was fairly sure her heart stopped beating. He stared up at her, lips curved at the corners, a brow lifted. He put a box in her lap, his hands wrapping around her thighs, stroking them through the thin fabric of her satin gown. She breathed heavily, reaching for the box with shaking hands and lifted the top, swallowing the ball of emotion as the black diamond engagement ring stared up at her. It was beautiful and not chunky either, which she appreciated. He'd tried buying her more glamorous pieces in the past, but they didn't fit her. So he learned to go more subtle, more to her style, and he got it right this time. This ring... it was...  _perfect_.

"Bruce..." she murmured, tearing her eyes away to stare at him.

"I never thought I'd meet anybody who could understand both halves... Who could  _accept_ both lifestyles... But you do." He reached for the ring, plucked it from the box and took her hand. "Say yes."

She swallowed tightly. "I... I don't know what to..."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course." And she did. She loved all of him; the dark and the light. The way he never quite smiled, but he did more with her than anybody else.

"Then say yes."

She licked her lips, glanced down and then took a breath. "Yes."

He smiled, or as near as he was ever going to get, and he slid the ring onto her finger before capturing her mouth. They made love in front of the fire three times that night, the carpet doing nothing for her bare back. When he finally dozed off, sprawled out beneath her, completely trusting of her as she laid awake overtop him, their legs entwined, she stared at the ring sitting elegantly on her finger. She listened to the thump of his heart and closed her eyes. Maybe happiness wasn't so elusive after all.

Of course, her life was never meant to be easy. In the next few months, the hits became more and more creative. The scrapes became constant hospital visits rather than just a quick clean up with Alfred. And Batman couldn't always be there to watch her back; he had the rest of the city to contend with. She didn't stop her writing, if anything it got edgier; hit them right where it hurts. She saw more and more criminals being put away; she sat on the witness stand and pointed them out to the judge and jury, waved goodbye as yet another was sentenced. And she was shot, stabbed, bombed and threatened time and time again. But she survived.

Until one day it became too much. Three weeks and she was in the hospital at least two or three times a day. It got so that she couldn't walk down the street without something happening. They didn't care if it was broad daylight or not; they wanted her gone. And the security guards Bruce had hired couldn't be trusted. It was either hide away and stop writing, or keep trying until it finally got her killed. Bruce couldn't take it. He'd lost a love before her and he wasn't willing to lose her too... Not this way.

"You can't stay," he told her one night as he stared out over the city, brooding over the revelation.

"If I leave, they win," she replied, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I won't let them. I can't."

"If you die, they win."

"So I won't die."

He turned around abruptly, now wearing the expression Batman so often bore. "You're not invincible. I think the last few weeks have proven that," he said through grit teeth.

"But I've survived."

"Barely," he growled.

"I  _won't_ let them _win!_ " she yelled, throwing her hands up. "I will not stand by and let them scare me into running away. I won't let them get any stronger than they already are."

"They'll keep hunting you; keep shooting at you as you walk down the streets. They aren't going to give up. And if they can't get to you, who do you think they'll turn to next? Friends, family, innocent people! Can you handle that you might be the reason they die?" He was only being honest, but she hated him for it.

Her heart rose up into her throat. "What would you have me do?" She shook her head. "Leave? Run? Walk away from you?" Her mouth quivered. "I  _can't_."

He reached for her, clasped her arm and drew her closer. "I can't watch you die."

She stared up at him. "I can't be a coward."

He brushed her hair from her face, pressed his forehead to hers and sighed. "You're so stubborn."

He said it fondly and she nearly smiled, but her tears thwarted any sense of amusement.

She inhaled deeply, trying to push her tears away. "So what do we do?"

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, like he often did. "You die."

She clenched her eyes closed. "Go out looking like a hero rather than a target, is that it?"

"We were in the park... We were attacked... You didn't make it, but you went down fighting..." He swallowed so tightly, she could hear it. "I was shot in the process... I couldn't save you..." She could hear his heartbeat now, racing and thumping loudly. He kissed her, hard and desperate. "I couldn't save you," he repeated.

She felt her tears slide down her cheeks then and his fingers swiping them away. "And they'll all remember the intrepid reporter who gave her all to save the city..." He stared at her, eyes darker than usual, the sadness creeping back in. " _I'll_ always remember her." His jaw twitched, in the way it often did when he was restraining himself.

"And I just disappear, don't I?" She let her eyes fall.

"You could never stand captivity; stuck here, hidden away..." His strong arms wrapped around her and she buried her face against his chest.

"How can you just... say goodbye?" she asked, shaking her head, gasping for air as her chest clenched. Everything inside of her hurt in that moment.

"I suppose I love you enough to let you go," he said lowly, the voice of Batman and Bruce Wayne all wrapped in one.

"You suppose?" she said cheekily, letting out a faint laugh that held no amusement.

"You always knew something like this could happen," he reminded, his hands holding tight to her, so large and warm against her back.

She nodded. "I guess I hoped it'd be awhile longer," she murmured. She wanted to ask him to come with her. If one of them could fake a death, two wouldn't be much harder. He had the connections and resources. The question was right there on the end of her tongue, but she already knew his answer. He belonged in Gotham and while she was sure much of her did, if only because so much of her felt like it belonged with him, she knew he was right. She had to leave. She hated running, she abhorred hiding, but in the end she had to choose between dying and living. She wanted to live, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go about it without him. Selfishly, she wanted to wave goodbye to Gotham, tell them she was sorry, but she was taking their last hope with her too. But maybe they needed him more than she did... Though she felt it was unlikely.

Chloe Sullivan was a hero in her own right, however. And she chose the essence of good over her own heart. She undressed him one last time and rode him until sun up. She kissed every inch of him, memorized every angle, every scar and stitch and muscle in his entire body. She flew to the highest of ecstasies and screamed his name until she was hoarse. And when he'd wake the next morning, Chloe Sullivan was gone, the black diamond engagement ring sitting on his bedside table. She'd see the news later, read the papers, and know...

" _It's_   _a truly sad day in Gotham as it has come to light that fiancée to billionaire Bruce Wayne, investigative reporter for Gotham Gazette Chloe Sullivan was brutally murdered this morning. Well known for her gritty exposes on the crime scene in Gotham, Miss Sullivan had been a witness in at least twenty-three separate lawsuits against various crime families. It was well known by the police force that she was being targeted by said groups, but it seemed there was not enough interest to keep her safe. During a stroll in the park, the newly engaged couple was attacked by unknown assailants. According to Mr. Wayne, Miss Sullivan put up a strong fight but in the end, she wasn't able to survive the gun shot wound she suffered. This would be the seventh time she was admitted to hospital from such a wound and it seemed luck was not on her side. Bruce Wayne is currently in hospital, having barely survived his own brutal attack. I'm Sara Franklin for Gotham News and all of us here would like to take a moment of silence for our fallen hero... Our condolences are with Mr. Wayne tonight_..."

Pictures flashed over the screen... When she first arrived, beaming for the camera as she held up her champagne flute; her and Bruce at some gala, his arm around her waist and her head bowed as he whispered against her ear; her posing next to Chief Gordon outside of City Hall after another won case and many, many more. She turned off the TV and rolled onto her side, burrowing into the scratchy blanket of the motel she was staying in.

In the years to come, he would never marry and many would speculate that he had never really gotten over her. He dated periodically, but it was never like how it used to be. He could no longer pretend to be the billionaire playboy he had been. It gave him an excuse to get out of the limelight some though and take up his activities as Batman more frequently. She kept up with the Gotham Gazette and she admired how much he cleaned up the streets. She said farewell to her dark knight that early morning and she stepped out into the bright light of a neighboring city. She climbed into her beat up car and took to the road; it seemed settling down just wasn't the life for her. So she put her heart away, locked it up in an impenetrable box and vowed that she was done... Chloe Sullivan would never love again. She was done with love and all of its heartbreak.

Bruce Wayne was the last hero she'd ever open herself up to... or so she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**  -  _The One_

When she met  _him_  he was just a mechanic working out of Singer Salvage. Her car mysteriously broke down at the dirt road leading to the isolated house with accompanying junkyard. She didn't know how long she'd been driving; it seemed that's all she was ever doing these days. After leaving Gotham, she was constantly on the move. Never really sitting down to take a breath or evaluate anything. She tossed and turned in bed until her body was so exhausted she couldn't stay awake any longer. She was eating out of fast food containers and sustaining wakefulness with stale gas station coffee. She was run down and on constant suspicious mode. Living the life she had, she was always looking around the next corner, waiting for the shadows to jump out and attack her. It made for a few not-so-polite sprays of mace to unsuspecting strangers just asking for directions.

He was the furthest thing from what she expected when she walked down the dirt road, the kingdom of scrap metal up ahead in the distance, an old wood house sitting off to the side in dire need of a remodel. Her heels made an odd clicking noise as she walked through the dirt and not for the first time, she wondered why she wasn't sporting her sneakers. She decided it was because it was that last little bit of herself she couldn't give up. She was so far from glamorous at the moment, she hardly recognized herself. Gone was the intrepid reporter with her trendy skirt and buttoned up jacket; the frilly blouses in enticing colors and the nice jewelry that accented her best assets. Gone too was the billionaire's fiancée, the one who sported floor length gowns to balls and galas, wearing diamonds and jewels, some of the finest silks gracing her body beautifully. She'd never lay in sheets of Egyptian cotton again, just those far too stained for her to even think of if she wanted to sleep a wink. But she had her heels, worn as they may be by now. They were black and three inches high, made her legs look longer and her ankles smaller. She felt beautiful, even though she was wearing a pair of jeans that had seen better days, ripped at the knees and faded far past the popular eligibility. And her t-shirt, no working woman's blouse for her, was a faded grey with a cracked logo she couldn't read. Blended in better this way, she figured.

The man she assumed  _must_ know something about cars, or at the very least could have a phone inside, was bent over a sleek black car. Her mouth opened to call out for him, but she instead decided to take just one second to fully take him in. It wasn't as if she had anybody else to help her nearby, but this was pretty much the setting of a horror flick waiting to happen. Poor abandoned woman searches for help only to find a murderer. Okay, so she wasn't what anybody could call helpless and he didn't really fit the murdering build. He was pretty young, couldn't be that much older than her. Then again, she had just celebrated 31, hadn't she?

He had wide shoulders and a toned build that she could see working beneath his shirt as he reached for this or that beneath the hood. Her eyes fell to his arms, the muscular sculpt reminded her for a second of a few other men whose arms were simply to die for; so strong and protective as they wrapped around her. She nearly sighed. She forced her gaze away, only to fall to stare at his butt. She felt a little hot under the collar and told herself to stop staring already; nice as it may be.

"Whatever you're sellin' sister, I ain't buyin'," he called out to her, startling her from her thoughts.

Her brows furrowed and for a second she was almost worried that a snarky remark hadn't immediately left her mouth. Had she been that out of the loop with society? Then she reminded herself that she was trying to stay under the radar and really only needed a quick tune up. "Uh... Door to door sales isn't really my thing... I've actually got a car that needs some kind of miracle, I guess." She mustered a smile. "It's just down the road if you'll-"

He lifted his head from beneath the hood of the car and turned toward her, likely with a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue if she judged his original expression right. It quickly changed however; his brows raising, mouth dropping slightly. "Hell, you're the prettiest thing to hit this place in a  _long_ time," he admitted aloud before shaking his head and clearing his throat.

Great, he was  _delusional!_  She looked like crap that had been run over and she knew it.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, where'd you say the car was?"

"End of the drive." She motioned back with her thumb. "It just..." She shrugged, "died suddenly. It was weird, actually."

"Weird." He smiled as if reminiscing and then nodded. "Right, well... Uh, you leave the keys in it or...?"

She dug them out of her pocket and tossed them to him. Wasn't like he could go anywhere with it. Even if he did, worst she'd be out is a crappy car. She'd have her own salvage yard, apparently.

"You thirsty? There's beer inside." He nodded his head to the house and then started down the drive.

"I'm fine," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Suit yourself." He snorted, looking almost amused. "I left my chainsaw in the garage though, so I won't be terrorizing you any time soon."

She snorted. All right, so he saw through her a little bit. "Good to know."

"Nobody else in the house if that's got you scared," he called back to her, turning around so he was walking backwards. "In fact, you feel like goin' in, grab me a beer."

"I think the last thing I want is a drunk mechanic right about now," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Take's more than one beer to get me drunk, sweetheart. And I could fix a car with my hands tied behind my back."

"Show off," she muttered, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear.

He laughed as if he did though, turned back around and kept walking toward the dead car out in the distance.

With a sigh, she turned and walked toward the house. Worst came to worse, she'd pull out the quick moves she'd learned over her lifetime and make sure Leatherface 2.0 knew she wasn't some damsel in distress.

After walking across the spilled salt at the front door, she headed to the beat up fridge and pulled out a couple beers. Tasted a little watered down, but she didn't mind so much. Another thing she didn't need was a drunk  _her_ with a hot mechanic in the vicinity. She walked back outside, felt the heat on her neck as soon as she stepped off the stairs and back onto the dirt drive. She held her sweaty bottle up to her forehead and let it cool her skin as she walked back out toward her hopefully running tin can, passing by the car he'd been working on. It was nice; a little big, but in beautiful shape. Nothing like her piece of crap.

She found herself scanning the open fields on either side of the junkyard, wondering why it was it was so far out of town. There wasn't a neighbor in sight. When she finally got to her car, he was far under the hood and fiddling with anything and everything it seemed.

"Here," she said, holding out his beer.

"Christo," he replied.

"Huh?"

"What? I said thanks," he muttered, taking the beer from her and popping the cap off before taking a guzzle.

"So what's wrong with it?" she wondered, staring at the inside of her car with complete confusion.

"She's dead."

"I figured that. Bring  _it_ back."

He laughed. "Resurrecting this lemon would take a whole lot of cash and waste more time than she's worth." He licked his lips before shaking his head. "I can drive you into town so can get a rental or...  _whatever_."

She put her hands to her hips. "So that's it? It's just dead."

He shrugged. "Shit happens."

She frowned. "To me... often."

He grinned. "I know that feeling."

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. "Can I use your phone?"

"Sure." He nodded, closing the hood and giving it a thump to make sure it locked into place before he walked around to grab the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to her. He walked next to her back to the house, carrying his beer by its neck and sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"You always this accommodating to strangers who show up out of the blue?"

He smirked at her. "Only the strange  _women_."

She laughed despite herself.

When they got back to the house, he took a seat on the stairs while she went inside to use the phone. She stood in front of it, gnawing her lip. Who was she supposed to call? Three names came to mind, all ex-boyfriends that would be there in a flash, she knew. But did she really want to call them? God, why did her love life have to be so complicated? She sighed, shaking her head. Her best option was take the ride into town, set up in some crap hotel and figure out her next step.

She walked back outside, plopped down beside him and sipped her beer.

"So what do I do with my car?"

He looked over at her, amused. "This is a scrap yard. I think I can find somewhere to throw her."

She nodded, half-smiling. "Thanks."

"Sure." He ran a hand over his hair and she couldn't help but look over at him, at the tanned expanse of skin beneath his worn and car grease smudged t-shirt. He was handsome; more than she'd thought from a back view. Strong jaw, freckles across his nose, hazel eyes, and lips to die for. She swallowed tightly and forced herself to look away. The last time she'd looked at anyone and felt anything had been months ago... Or was it a whole year now? It felt long and short. What was the date?

"July 17th," he answered.

Her brows rose. Huh, maybe she said that last part out loud. If it was July... That meant it'd either been two months or fourteen... And she knew it was the latter. Over a year she'd been driving all over, no wonder the car finally gave up. She wasn't exactly stopping in to get it tuned up as often as she should and it was pretty beat up to begin with. She picked it up for a few hundred at a used lot and never looked back. She was sort of wishing she'd been a little less hasty all those months ago. But here she was, no point in regretting past mistakes.

"You want that ride into town?" he wondered, leaning against the post holding the roof of the porch up. For such an old place, it certainly looked sturdier up close like this.

She sighed, pushing her hair back. "Yeah, I should probably get settled as soon as I can." She stood up from the stairs, brushed off her jeans and smiled at him awkwardly. "Uh thanks, by the way..."

"Dean," he offered, standing up. "Dean Winchester."

"Chloe Sullivan," she replied, forgetting for the moment that an alias would be smarter. She was, after all, supposedly dead.

He smiled at her, mischief in that quirk of her lips. "You need anything from your car?"

She nodded. "A lot actually."

He licked his lips before walking over to the car he'd been working on, fiddled under the hood for a few minutes and then closed it before he walked around to the driver side and hopped in. He nodded his head for her to follow and she left her beer on the stoop before walking over and climbing in. It came to a roaring start and she leaned into the comfortable leather seats, feeling her tiredness catch up. It'd been a long time since anybody else did the driving. They stopped at the end of the dirt road and he popped the trunk for her to move her things. She was glad he gave her a minute to get her stuff together before coming over to help because she had a few guns and other assorted weapons lying around. That probably wouldn't look to good to a civilian, she supposed. Getting everything together, including grabbing a tracking device hidden in her driver seat visor so the League could always make sure she was safe, she tossed her stuff in the back end of his car and climbed back in.

Sighing, she let herself relax into the seat and closed her eyes for a just a minute. Awhile later, she felt him shaking her awake. The warmth of a hand and the gentle motion he was making as he rubbed it back and forth was enough to keep her from startling forward and aiming for his jugular. Attackers don't generally try to ease a person awake. She blinked rapidly, looking around in confusion. It was darker than when she closed her eyes, she noticed immediately.

"You're in room 102," came the deep voice of Dean next to her. "There's a diner around the corner if you're hungry. You tell Doris I sent you; she'll give you a piece of the best pie in the entire world. You gotta give it a try."

She stared back at him, still a little sleep hazed.

When he climbed out of the car, she followed suit, standing up and stretching her back. He tossed her the room key and she caught it on reflex, not catching his grin right away. He popped the trunk and pulled out her large duffel bag for her, tossing it over his shoulder without pause. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I gotta head back in soon."

She nodded, shuffling off toward her intended room, only then realizing she hadn't paid for it. "Hey, you didn't have to pay for this. I can pay you back." She started digging into her pockets for some of her money, but he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. Wasn't that expensive."

She opened the door, tossing the key down on the table nearby and sighed as she looked around the room, so much like all the others she'd been in.

"Nice wallpaper," he commented.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I've seen worse. There was this sea foam and fish design over in-"

"Ackley."

She looked over at him, brows furrowed. "Yeah! You've been?"

He nodded. "A few times. Unfortunately." He smiled lightly.

"What about... Blue River?"

"Weird yellow flowers and-"

"Water beds!"

"Yeah!" He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

She chuckled, nodding. With a comfortable sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

"So why's a woman like you visiting America's shittiest motels?" he asked, leaning against the wall with a lifted brow.

She took a deep breath. "It's a long story," she admitted with a nod. "One I hate telling and you probably don't want to hear."

"Well I'd tell you why I visited them, but you'd probably kick me out of your room here and that would be... tragic." He looked around at the walls once more before nodding at the bathroom. "I wouldn't suggest using the shower. They don't clean ‘em here too often."

She grimaced. "Lovely."

He half-smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You ever need anything, you know where to find me."

She looked up at him, brows raised. She kind of didn't want him to go. It'd be far too long since she'd met anybody she felt comfortable enough talking to. "Oh, well... Yeah, I'll just hitchhike out there, right?"

He raised a brow. "You thought  _I_ was a chainsaw wielding maniac so you refused to go inside, but you'll hop a ride with some stranger with a car?"

"My priorities have always been a little mixed up," she admitted freely.

He chuckled lightly. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll take you out for a slice of pie tomorrow, maybe show you around a little so you're not the lost traveler, hitching rides out to strange places."

She grinned. "I'd like that."

He nodded, backing out of the room. "Yeah, well, see ya."

"Bye."

And it all started there.

Her first real friend was a mechanic who lived out of town, liked watered down beer and every-flavored pie, and was a bit of a traveler in his own right, with a history that was probably just as shrouded as her own.

She stayed in the motel for two weeks, feeling grosser and grosser with each passing day of no shower, using a hand towel to wash up as best she could. She practically lived off the pie in the diner around the corner. There was a new one every day and she fell in love with each delicious flavor. Doris was a godsend, always sending her home with an extra piece and a wink telling her to enjoy. Dean came into town every second day or so, picking up provisions as he called them and showing her around town in his Impala - or his baby, as he called her. She got a job at the local newspaper, fixed it so she could write under an alias and wrote little things here or there, enough to put some money in her pocket. She had to buy a new car and get herself back on the road as soon as possible. But the more time she spent there, meeting the locals and getting to know Dean, she found she kind of liked the sleepy town.

On a Thursday afternoon, she stood in front of Dean's baby with a wrench in her hand. He was going to teach her how to change something or other. She wasn't quite sure what, she only knew that he was covered in grease and it was one of the sexiest sights she'd ever seen. He gave her a pair of coveralls that were way too big and laughed as she stepped outside in them, the bottom of the legs rolled over ten fold before she could even move. Pushing her sleeves up, she came to stand next to him, a lot of what he was saying sounding like complete nonsense to her. She'd never touched the insides of a car in her life and frankly, she was a little scared she was going to ruin his Impala.

"I'll be here the whole time," he assured with a shrug. "You do anything wrong, I'll know. Now lean over and look at this..."

She leaned in, the heat of the engine and the surrounding summer wind making her swelter in the confines of the coveralls. It wasn't long before she'd let the fall to her waist and tied the arms around her, not worried about getting grease on her off-white beater.

She didn't know what they were doing or what they were fixing, but she did know that whenever he wanted to move her somewhere else or show her something, his hands wrapped around her hips and directed her there, the grip of his fingers felt through the layers of fabric, sending shivers up and down her spine. She could feel the warmth of his body at her back, his arms brushing hers as he leaned right across her to point something out. It was like an erotic dance involving engine grease and cold beer, which she would laugh at if she heard from anyone else. But standing there, surrounded by Dean Winchester, she could barely breathe.

"You know what a sparkplug is?" he asked her, lifting a brow at her.

"Vaguely," she said, lifting a shoulder before she brushed her hair off her face.

He grinned suddenly, reached out with his hand rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "Grease," was all he said.

But her mind wandered, all she could think of was how he'd looked at her then, how his eyes had darkened, how his smile was more genuine than its usually sarcastic feel. She saw his mouth moving, his expression twisting as he told her more and more about sparkplugs or something, but all she could think of was how she could still feel the brush of his thumb on her cheek.

"You listening, Blondie?"

She nodded abruptly, swallowing before she forced her ears to open, to hear what he was saying. But all they heard was the growl in his tone, the deep texture that made her skin prickle and her insides tighten.

These last two weeks, she'd learned a lot about Dean. That he had a little brother who graduated from Stanford, and worked his smart ass off as some big lawyer. That his parents were dead; lost his mom when he was little and his dad over a decade back. That the house he lived in was his old friend Bobby's, who died in a hunting accident that he didn't go into detail about. She knew he'd been living on the road from a young age, only really set up house in the last few years, working on cars and making a living that way, rather than moving into town and trying something more stable. From what she could tell, he was pretty alone though. With his brother gone, who she could tell he was really close to, he didn't seem to have many friends or any other family to hold close. It felt familiar, which is why she found she enjoyed his company that much more. All they really had were each other, a couple of relative strangers living day by day.

She felt his hand on hers as he brought it beneath the hood, placed it over something and moved her fingers around. "You feel that?"

She nodded jerkily, her eyes set on their hands sliding together, his so much larger than her own. She swallowed, licking her lip and felt a droplet of sweat run down her spine.

She could feel his eyes on hers but continued to stare at his large hand sitting on top of hers. She felt his fingers threaded between hers and then his hand was sliding up, his forefinger trailing beneath and along her wrist, stroking her accelerating pulse. Higher and higher, his hands slid, leaving a smudge of black behind until he reached her shoulder and ran behind to cup her neck. She turned her head then, stared right at him, took in the heat in those hazel eyes, now more brown than green and felt her whole body cave in.

He tugged her hair and she responded instinctively, turning herself so she was fully facing him, taking an unsteady step forward that he met with his own. His eyes washed down her face and she felt his hand slide up along the side of her neck, his palm graze her cheek, fingers threading in her hair at her temple. He tipped his head, leaning forward, but left space there for her to fill, for her to cross and finish what he started. She drew in a shaky breath and met his lips, softer than she had suspected. The heat of the summer sun was nothing compared to that of his tongue embracing hers. Her body arched, she lifted up on her toes, leaning far into him until she was molded to his hard chest. His other arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her in closer. Gasping breaths were taken in between the slant of their lips, their teeth gnashing, tongues dueling. Her hands gripped his shirt at his shoulders, smudging grease into it and nearly tearing the fabric with her ferocity.

She barely felt her feet moving as they stumbled away from the front of the car, or her back hitting the driver door as he pushed her back. Their mouths parted and her head fell back, half open eyes staring up at the blue, cloudless sky above. She could feel his mouth on her neck, marking her, searing her flesh, his hair brushing against the underside of her jaw. His fingers ran over her sides, drawing up her shirt as they ran along her curves. She slid her arms down, her hands falling beneath the hem of his shirt and reaching for bare flesh, the feel of his defined stomach clenching beneath her touch.

He wasn't a relationship guy and she told herself that was good. The heat between them was palpable but the last thing she needed was a boyfriend, somebody to fall for and have her heart broken again. She was done with that; done with anything that resembled love. He took her against the driver door of the Impala, the coveralls pushed down and off, hanging from one ankle as her legs wrapped around his waist. She could care less that they were in the wide open, that anybody driving by could look over and see him screwing her into oblivion. She focused on the sensations; on the feel of the few days' whiskers along his cheek brushing harshly against her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. On his long fingers running all over her body, smudging her pale skin with engine grease. On his mouth, so soft compared to the hard angles of the rest of him, smoothing over every plain he could reach. And oh god, the fulfillment with each stroke of him inside of her.

The door of the Impala was hot, near scalding from the sun beating down on it all day and pressed up against her back as he slid her beater up made her cry out. But her attention turned back to how his mouth felt on her, on his lips surrounding her nipple, suckling as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, and she didn't care that the car was burning her back, she just arched into the heat of his tongue. Weeks ago, she remembered meeting him here, thinking he was downright sexy in a place filled with scrap metal, but she'd never really expected this. They'd become friends; good friends, the only person she could really rely on anymore. She couldn't turn to friends or family and the men of her life were a big no-no. So here she was, wrapped up in Dean Winchester, a stranger in some ways and yet a man who in that moment felt like he knew her better than anyone.

She bit his shoulder when her release finally washed over her; a fierce wave of pleasure that had her entire body shaking violently. She could feel the sweat all over his and her skin; she could taste it in her mouth as she kissed her bite mark away. He held her there, his large body pressing against hers, keeping her up against the car. She could hear him panting at her shoulder, his lips brushing her neck every once in awhile. She ran a hand down his back, bare and tanned, the sweat slick beneath her palm. She didn't want to let go; she didn't want to pull back and step into one of those awkward moments. She didn't want a definition of what they were or weren't and she didn't want there to be a long few weeks where they avoided each other.

She didn't have to say anything because he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Why don't we take a shower and then get some lunch?" he mumbled against her neck.

"With pie?" she said hopefully.

He laughed and she could feel the rumble from his chest to hers. "You kidding? ‘Course there'll be pie!"

He let her down to her feet and there wasn't a moment of insecurity; she was just comfortable, with whatever they were. And when he took her hand before they walked inside, she told herself that tingle was just anticipation, knowing that their shared shower wasn't only going to be a quick clean up. Still, she let their fingers thread and she enjoyed the heat and warmth and all encompassing comfort his large, calloused hand held.

Months later, they were still undefined and she never asked for more than that. However, she no longer saw the inside of the crappy motel because she'd become a constant guest in his bed. Neither of them questioned that. She spent more time at his place than she did in town and one afternoon while he was fixing up one of the other cars in the yard, planning on selling it for a nice penny, he called out to her, "Your motel room's a waste of money."

She snorted. "I'm well aware."

"So get rid of it." He shrugged. "Plenty of room here."

And that was that. She handed in the keys, grabbed her stuff and was now living with him. Except not; because that would entail some kind of relationship, which she was completely avoiding. Even if he did make her feel like she was the only woman on the face of the Earth that got him. Even if she felt more comfortable in a scrap yard than anywhere else. She had her lap top with stolen internet, he wouldn't tell her how he did that, and she was comfortable. He went hunting a lot, sometimes leaving for a couple weeks at a time, but he always came back. Sometimes a little scraped up, but never too bad. And when she showed him she could heal, she even surprised herself, taking away all the cuts and bruises that littered his body. He wasn't scared, more interested really, and she felt gratitude well up in her throat when all he said was, "Cool."

But whenever he was gone she found herself listening for the growl of the Impala coming up the drive and missing the warmth of his body next to her in bed. Still, she wouldn't let herself admit to any feelings beyond desire. And she did desire him, often. It wasn't hard when she was with him day in and day out and he seemed to be taking his shirt off at every corner. Sure, it was hot out, but standing beneath the cover of the porch roof, watching him as he worked beneath the hood of a car, his back flexing, arms muscled and tight, sweat gliding down him in rivulets that made her thighs squeeze together, he was just asking for it! It helped that he was like every lover she'd ever had, all mixed into one incredible ecstasy driven man.

He was sarcastic and blunt and somehow a mixture of all the men she'd ever loved in her life. He had Clark's need to help people; no matter the situation, he always seemed to be there and willing to lend a hand. He had Oliver's need to keep her safe; the second there was any sign of danger, he was immediately trying to take care of her. She cut her finger once and he looked like he was ready to drive her to the hospital. He had Jack's easy attitude; he wasn't much of a dancer, but when they went to the bar in town, he'd parade her around the dance floor just because he liked seeing her laugh. And he had Bruce's dark beauty; it was obvious there was something always haunting him, but he was constantly trying to live past it, to pretend it didn't hurt.

It was a year before she met Sam. She spoke to him first, picking up the phone while Dean was showering, singing ACDC loud and off key while she made breakfast.

"Hello?" she answered, snickering as Dean began belting out the chorus.

"Uh... Hi... This is Sam... Dean's brother... He's not answering his cell and I was just..." He cleared his throat.

"He's in the shower," she replied, leaning her hip on the counter. "Singing. Loudly. And badly."

Sam laughed. "ACDC, right?"

"Yeah." She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

" _Forget the hearse, cause I never die_ ," they both sang. " _I got nine lives, cat's eyes, cruisin' every woman, never wonderin' why..._ "

They laughed, her grin widening. "I've never heard so much mullet rock in my life," she admitted.

"You and me both!" he agreed.

She stirred the bacon in the pan in front of her. "Were you worried about his hunting trip?" she wondered. "He got back early this morning."

"Oh, uh yeah... He just usually calls when he gets back."

"He was dead tired. He only woke up a little while ago and jumped right into the shower." She heard the water turn off. "He's almost done though."

"Good, good..." He paused for a moment and she knew he was waiting to say something. He reminded her of his brother that way. "So, you and Dean..."

"Me and Dean," she repeated, shaking her head slowly, not sure what he was waiting for.

"What are you guys exactly?" he finally asked, bluntly.

"Exactly? Uh, we're... Oh look, there he is, just a minute..."

"Who is it?" he asked, standing in front of her with a towel hung loose around his hips. She stared at him a moment, watching the water dribble down the expanse of his sculpted chest. She swallowed tightly. God, how did a mechanic look so good?

"Babe?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, it's Sam." She shook her head.

He smirked at her knowingly before taking the phone. "Yeah?" She didn't know what his brother said, but he snorted, walking toward their bedroom. "Shut up. What are you doing?"

She returned her attention to breakfast and finished it up, serving it on two dishes. When he came back, he was still tugging his shirt on before he stepped up behind her and stole a piece of bacon from the plate before kissing the side of her neck. "Thanks," he said, taking his plate over to the table and sitting down.

Pouring a cup of coffee for herself, she followed him over "So? How's Sam?"

"Good. He's, uh, thinkin' of coming out for a few days." He nodded, staring at his food.

"That's good. I know you missed having him around."

He half-grinned. "Yeah, not the same without him around to bitch at me." He chuckled to himself.

She smiled. "So when's he planning on visiting?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "This weekend."

She nodded. "We should pick up groceries. If he eats half as much as you, there'll be nothing left before dinner."

He grinned, for some reason looking more relaxed and then stole her coffee. "We're out of M&M's."

She rolled her eyes. Weren't they always?

That weekend, Sam showed up with a duffel bag and a pretty brunette with a nervous smile. While Sam and Dean hugged in a manly/brotherly fashion that involved a lot of clapping on the back and Dean calling his brother a bitch, Chloe stood uncomfortably on the porch.

"Hi," said the woman, "You must be Chloe." She stepped forward, holding out her hand. "I'm Sarah."

"Hi. I didn't know Sam was bringing anyone," she admitted, shrugging.

"Neither did he." She grinned. "But when I found out Dean had a girlfriend, I had to come and meet you." She lifted a shoulder.

She didn't bother correcting her; too many questions.

"So far so good?" Chloe asked.

Sarah chuckled. "Depends. Are you a run and hide kind of girl or face your fears?"

Chloe was slightly confused by the question, but her answer was quick and honest. "Face your fears. Always. Nothing gets done otherwise."

"Definitely good so far," Sarah said. "While those two pretend they don't like each other, why don't we go inside? I haven't talked to an actual girl in a way too long!"

Chloe laughed, stepping back inside the house. From that moment on, Chloe had a new friend. Sarah Blake.

When Sam and Dean came inside, she could finally put a face to a voice. He was much taller than Dean and oddly just as muscular; must run in the genes, she thought. He had more boyish features though and a gentler smile than Dean did. She found herself thinking they'd be the perfect good cop, bad cop types. But then shook her head of the thought, why would they ever need to practice that? It was just her former reporter kicking in. She shook Sam's hand and then smiled awkwardly.

"So... What are you two planning on doing today?" she wondered.

"Ah, bitchface here wants to check out the town," Dean told her, nodding toward his brother. "We need anything else from the store?" he wondered, grabbing his favorite leather jacket.

"Not unless you polished off your M&M's already," she replied, lifting a knowing brow.

He grinned at her. "You staying here or coming?"

She turned to Sarah with a lifted brow. "How much do you like pie?"

Sarah tipped her head in confusion. "Um, it's good...?"

"Great. We're coming!" Chloe walked over and grabbed the car keys before racing outside.

"No way! You're not driving!" Dean chased after her.

"I grabbed the keys first!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward the Impala.

"Not fair! You didn't say go!"

"Not my fault you're slow," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him as she pulled open the driver door.

She let out a shriek as he picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder. "No way I'm sitting in the passenger seat!"

"I didn't make the rules I just follow them," she told him laughing.

"Come on!" He pouted.

"Fine! But I get to drive back!" She held the keys out for him.

"Maybe," he said, grabbing the keys and letting her down.

"Maybe my butt, Winchester," she told him, smirking. "You're not careful, you're sitting in the back and Sarah's riding up front."

He pursed his lips and just to make him stop, she kissed him. She went to pull away a moment later, but he drew her forward again, kissing her deeply. She sighed, leaning into his chest and forgetting all about their game of who gets to drive. When he leaned away, licking his lips, she missed the warmth of them immediately. She shook her head, hoping to make the fog fade. "I'm still driving home," she told him before opening the back door and climbing in.

Grumbling, he climbed into the car, waving at his brother and shouting, "Hurry up!" as he and Sarah walked over to get in.

Most of the weekend was spent just having fun. She found Dean was more lighthearted with Sam around; he goofed off and played pranks and acted like a little kid again. She loved seeing that; the way his face lit up and his amused grin whenever his brother came out looking frustrated at something Dean had done. As long as she and Sarah weren't the target of his or Sam's pranks, she stayed out of it. Although, she did tell Sam how to make itching power, purely out of scientific reasons.

She felt younger than she was, watching movies and hanging out with them. She could enjoy spending an hour curled up against Dean as they watched some DVD they rented, eating popcorn and talking about how the movie really wasn't the least bit scary. She liked waking up to find Sarah yawning over a cup of coffee and reading the Arts and Culture page of the newspaper before passing her the news. And having Sam around to have debates with was always fun; he was smart and interesting and he had an opinion on just about everything.

She was rather sad to see them go early Monday morning, but they both had work and couldn't stay. She hugged Sarah tightly, telling her to e-mail her and let her know how the drive was. Sam hugged her close and she was reminded of Clark for just a moment; the younger farmboy that was her best friend from day one. "Take care of him," Sam whispered in her ear.

She nodded. "It's a full time job but I think I got it handled," she assured.

He grinned, stepping back and turned to his brother. "Jerk," he said fondly.

Dean sighed, half-smiled rather sadly. "Bitch."

They hugged, longer than they had when he first arrived and then Dean clapped his back and stepped away, clearing his throat.

"We'll call when we get in," Sam assured, walking toward the car where Sarah was waiting.

Dean nodded and she felt his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She leaned into him, sure that he was just feeling alone. She waved as the car pulled away and felt Dean's arm tighten around her. "Well," he muttered. "Guess it's nice to have the house back to ourselves."

She nodded, biting her lip. She turned around, tipping her head. "You know what that means?"

He stared at her a moment and then grinned. "You're naughty." He lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. "I like it."

Sam and Sarah kept in touch and it became a natural thing for them to come by once a month, when possible. She hadn't realized just how long she'd been with Dean but when another Easter, Halloween and even Christmas passed by, soon it'd been two years. Her feelings were put on the back burner, she didn't like thinking what they meant or where they'd led her to. It was hard to think of a future that didn't involve Dean and despite the fact that she knew she could leave at any time, she didn't. She had her own car now, though she didn't use it often, and she could easily pack her stuff up and hit the road. But still, she stayed. She stayed in the junkyard, surrounded by mountains of metal and beat up cars. She stayed sleeping in his bed, wrapped up in his arms, waking up to inhale that scent that she'd grown so accustomed to. Every morning, they'd take a shower and she'd serve them up a cup of coffee. He'd give her the news while he read the comics and, oddly enough, the obits, and their day would go on as usual. She'd go into town to work on the paper and he'd work on cars, those in the yard and brought to him from town.

She liked her life and she didn't want it to change, but it was going to have to. She was getting too close to him, growing to rely on waking up with him and she knew what that meant. As soon as she felt right, it would blow up in her face and she couldn't go through that again. She wouldn't.

She packed her bags while he was in town and brought them out to her car. She swallowed the sob in her throat and wiped the tears from her eyes before they could fall. She didn't hear him come in while she was searching their bedroom for one last keep sake. But she heard his boots clomping when he came inside. Her stomach tightened and her throat burned, but she didn't move, she just waited for him to find her.

"What the  _hell's_ going on?" he asked her.

She turned around slowly, taking a long, steadying breath. "I'm leaving."

"Yeah, I got that. What I want to know is why." He threw his arms up, eyes wide, brow cocked.

She licked her lips, eyes falling. "It's just time." She grabbed the picture of them she'd come for and moved toward the door, but he blocked her way stubbornly. "Dean, please..."

"No way... You're not leaving until we figure this shit out. Because as far as I knew, we were fine." His breathing was picking up with anger and confusion.

"We were..." She shook her heard. "Are."

"Then why?" He stared at her searchingly. "Chlo?"

She sighed. "When things go good, it only means that they'll go bad even worse." She lifted a shoulder. "It's best if I leave now, just trust me."

"No. No, I'm not gonna just trust you, all right?" He frowned at her. "You really wanna go?"

"I don't  _want_ to, Dean, I  _have_ to." He wouldn't understand.

"Bullshit." He shook his head. He turned around and walked toward the kitchen. "I'm callin' Sarah!"

She sighed, following after him. "She's not going to have any answers. I didn't tell her I was going!"

He sighed, turning back to glare at his, his hands on his hips. "You didn't tell Sam either."

She shook her head.

"So what? You were gonna sneak away when I wasn't looking?" He pursed his lips. "Weren't gonna let anyone know you were okay?"

"Clean break," she murmured.

"Clean? You call this clean?" He waved his arms around. "You're fucking leaving me, Chloe!"

Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth shook. "It's best if-"

"No. Shut up." He shook his head. "It's not for the best, okay? I don't know what happened or why the hell you think you need to go, but you're not." He crossed his arms.

She lifted her eyes to glare at him, frowning. "You can't make me stay."

"The hell I can't!" he exclaimed.

"Why are you being so difficult?" she half-yelled.

"Oh I dunno, maybe my girlfriend of two and a half years is suddenly leaving me!" he shouted. "It's a little fucking disturbing is all!"

She turned her head away. "We never labeled this."

"Are you kidding me?" He laughed derisively. "After all this time you wanna pull this shit now? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, sweetheart, I labeled this the day you showed up with a broken car, all right?"

"Dean..."

"No, listen, okay?" He licked his lips, glancing away for a moment. "Now I know we're not the most conventional couple. I don't even think we've really gone on a date or whatever. But... You're mine, okay? And I'm... yours. I just thought... you knew that by now."

She sniffled, closing her eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like that... It..."

"Well it is... And I like it that way." He looked away for a moment before turning back. "And I thought you did too."

She nodded. "I did." She swallowed. "I do."

"Then hell, Chloe. Stay." He held his hands out in the closest thing to a pleading gesture.

"I c-can't." She shook her head, turning and fleeing from the kitchen. She climbed into her car and started it, refusing to look back at the house she'd been living in for the last few years. She pulled out of the drive and onto the highway, turning away from the town she'd grown to really like. The tears wouldn't stop; they were flowing constantly down her cheeks no matter how many calming breaths she took or how often she wiped them away. She finally pulled over to the side of road and sobbed her heart out. God, what was wrong with her? Why was she doing this? Why was she running away? She loved him; she really did. Her heart ached over the simply  _idea_ of leaving him and now here she was, driving away.

She leaned back into the seat and stared ahead at the open road. Where would it lead? Hotel rooms and lonely beds. No more M&M's or morning showers where he lathered her body up with his soap just because he liked her smelling like him. No more late nights of coming back home to curl up in his arms on the couch and watch stolen cable or sitting on the porch swing, admiring him as he worked on the Impala. No more hot days in the junkyard, her back burning as he screwed her against the Impala door. No more lazy days of making love where all she knew was Dean's voice and his hands and his mouth, everywhere, touching and loving every single inch of her body. No more running for the keys to see who might get to drive this time or sharing a slice of heaven in the form of pie while they sat on the porch swing, watching the sun set over the field. No more  _Dean_.

She stiffened her shoulders, turned on the car and drove back onto the highway, making a U-turn and returning the way she came. She pulled in next to the Impala and hurried into the house. She hadn't been gone long, but he managed to trash the living room and was now sitting in the middle of the mess, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. She approached slowly, falling to her knees in front of him and reaching out, expecting him to push her away and start yelling at her. Instead, he just sat there and she buried her face against his neck.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

His arms wrapped around her, dragging her into his lap and she relished in his arms wrapped so tight around her she almost couldn't breathe. His face pressed against his shoulder and the only sound made that alerted her he was crying was the random sniffle. She ran her hand down his hair and gripped the back of his shirt. "Stay," he mumbled. "Just stay."

She nodded. "I'm staying. I'm not... I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Hours later, after telling him the reasons for her running, breaking down every relationship she'd had - leaving the hero angle out of it - he understood a little better why she what she did. Still, he told her he wasn't them and he didn't want to have to pay for how much they royally fucked up. So in turn, she too learned more about him and understood that they were different; whatever  _they_ were.

From anger and fighting to understanding and resolutions, they wound up in bed, as usual. Together, they lay panting in his bed, wrapped in each others arms and she realized how foolish she was for ever considering leaving him. "I love you," he said against her hair.

Her eyes fell closed and she finally admitted to him and herself. "I love you too."

Months later, that would be tested. She nearly dumped him the second she realized he was a lot like the rest. Another hero. When he asked her, "Why didn't you?" She'd always reply with a wink and a, "You were just too good in bed." Because it always made him smirk and deep down they both knew why she really didn't... She couldn't.

It was late and they were fast asleep in bed. She was dressed in one of his ratty Led Zeppelin t-shirts and lying on her stomach with his arm thrown across her and his legs entwined with hers. They both woke up to the sudden crashing noise coming from the living room. Her first thought was that some idiot was actually trying to rob them. She was shocked silent when a woman appeared in the door way, her eyes completely black and a sadistic grin on her face.

She disappeared a second later when Dean pulled a sawed off out of nowhere and shot it. She could hear whatever it was hurrying down the hall, but she wasn't focusing on the fact that some kind of creature was in the house. Instead, she was noticing that he was  _prepared_ for some kind of creature to infiltrate the house. He was looking through drawers, mumbling about where his dad's journal was and how Sammy was better at Latin that he was.

"Oh you have  _got_ to be kidding me!" she exclaimed.

Shot gun in hand, he moved toward the doorway and looked over at her with a shrug. "Sorry sweetheart, the things that go bump in the night are real," he replied absently, trying to look around the corner carefully.

She rolled her eyes. "I  _knew_ that. What I didn't know was that you  _hunted_ them. Another friggin' hero!" She shook her head, sighing heavily. "You know for the longest time, I couldn't get a hero to  _squint_ in my direction, but the last twelve years or so..." She shook her head.

"Uh, yeah, we'll do the I Dated a Hero recap thing after, ‘kay? I gotta kill this sonuvabitch first," he replied casually, with a hint of sarcasm evident in his smirk.

Falling back to lie on the bed, she sighed.  _Un-freaking-believable_. No matter where she went or what she did, she always wound up dating heroes. Well, that was it. No way was she sticking around with some demon hunting bad ass. No wonder he was so built and the hunting trips! Of course! How could she not notice something like that? She just assumed it was a stress reliever or something; like a memorial to his dad and Bobby, who both died hunting. But no, of course not, he was still in the game. The whole saving people thing made even more sense; he did it every day so what was a flat tire or a kid stuck in a tree? When they were in town, he seemed to step up whenever somebody needed help. Unless it had to do with yard work, then he was totally out.

Near dawn, he crawled back into bed.

"Exactly  _why_ did it show up here?" she wondered, still rather aggravated.

"Ah, I pissed it off over in Oakland. Killed its boyfriend or something, I dunno." He wrapped his arm around her and put his head on the pillow, ready to get back to sleep.

"When were you in Oakland?" she wondered, brows furrowed.

"Few months ago," he mumbled. "I'm tired. Can we have this talk tomorrow?"

She rolled over. "Dean! You're a demon hunter  _thing_!"

"I hunt a lot of things, not only demons." His eyes were still closed.

She pushed his shoulder. "We seriously have to talk about this."

With a sigh, he opened his eyes. "Okay, so I hunt. I kill bad things and save people. Been doing it most of my life. Learned from my dad who died to save me after some yellow eyed freak killed my mom when I was like four." He shrugged. "Sammy was a hunter too. We were on the road a lot; dad was always searching for the yellow eyed demon. Anyway, he finally found it, and it wanted Sam to become some kind of leader to the demons or whatever. But things didn't go that way, I killed the freak. Course he also killed Sam who I brought back with a crossroads deal giving me a year to live. I died, went to hell, Sam resurrected me, and after a few more years of fighting the demon war, Sam retired and I fight off what's left of them." He smiled. "There you go. Anything else?" She didn't reply, so he nodded. "Good." He closed his eyes. "Night."

She laid back, staring up at the ceiling. Seriously?

He fell asleep quickly and she turned on her side to watch him for a moment. So he was a hunter, a hero, another in a line of many she'd known... And she knew what that meant; danger and killing and darkness... she was used to it. But could she go through it again? He didn't do what Clark or Oliver or Jack or even Bruce did... He fought a different kind of evil. There would be no other woman, like in Clark's case. She knew that. There'd be no fear for her life and turning her away; after three years, he seemed confident enough that he wasn't going to suddenly turn her away for her safety. He wasn't going to shun her for her powers, like Jack, because he'd seen them first hand when she healed him years ago. There were no mobs coming to get her, no reason to fake her death, and really, she knew, if she had to, he'd go with her. He didn't have roots set down anywhere like Bruce, he didn't have a city relying on him. So where she went, he'd go. So what were her options? She already loved him, already started a life with him... Did she turn around now?

Of course not. She was a stay and face her fears type.

It was worth it. All the heartache and broken relationships; losing the men in her life that once made her feel so cherished. Walking away from Clark because he was meant to be with Lois. Leaving Oliver because he needed someone he wasn't afraid would break. Escaping Metropolis and keeping Jack as a distant memory of the man she once knew. And even saying goodbye to Bruce; her dark knight and beacon of hope. Having her heart trampled on time and time again, walking away from those she loved and starting a new life for herself after months of being on the road and living out of fast food cartons. She was finally home. She was finally where she was meant to be and nothing was going to get in her way.

"Mom! Dad ate all my M&M's!"

Chloe sighed, turning around and looking down at her seven year old son. "What'd I tell you?"

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping. "Never let dad know I have them if I don't want ‘em eaten."

She nodded, smiling. "Dean!"

He walked in behind their son, shoulders slumped in the same fashion. "I'll buy him a new bag." He ruffled Logan's hair. "Nark."

Frowning at him, Logan crossed his arms. "I ain't no rat!"

"You told your mom!"

"Hey, stop fighting you two!" She shook her head. "Where's Sam?"

"Calming Sarah down," Dean replied, walking over to lean against the counter next to her.

She sighed. "What'd you say?"

" _I_ didn't say anything. Sammy's the one who mentioned it might be hard for her to get up from the porch swing." He smirked, shaking his head. "Doesn't learn."

Chloe grabbed a cold glass of lemonade and then went outside to find a sobbing Sarah and a worried Sam still trying to calm her down.

"You're not fat! You're beautiful! I just meant-"

"I know what you  _meant!_ " she cried, her shoulders heaving.

Shaking her head, Chloe sat down on the swing next to her and passed her the cold glass of juice.

"My h-husband doesn't find me attractive anymore," Sarah told her, her face red with tears.

" _What?_ " Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms up. "I do too!"

Shaking her head, Chloe waved at him to go away, glaring over her shoulder at Dean as he laughed at his brother.

"Dad, why is Aunty Sarah always crying?" Logan wondered.

"Hormones. It's a girl thing," Dean replied, sighing. "Come on, little man. Let's show your Uncle Sammy how to change a sparkplug."

"Yeah!" Logan shouted, racing toward the Impala.

"I know how," Sam argued.

"Then why do you keep bringing your car to the auto shop?" Dean cocked a brow.

" _Two_ times!"

"Hey, if you knew what you were doing..." Dean shrugged.

Moping, Sam followed, dragging his feet.

"D-Do you think I'm fat?" Sarah wondered.

"I think you're pregnant," Chloe replied. "And for someone who's seven months in, you look really good."

"R-Really?"

"Oh yeah." Chloe nodded. "When I was seven months with Logan, do you remember how big I got?"

Sarah chuckled, nodding. "Sam thought it was triplets."

Chloe scowled. "Exactly."

"I just feel so..." Her shoulders slumped.

"It'll pass." She grinned. "We have some leftover pie!"

"Ooh!" Sarah's face brightened. "With pecan ice cream?"

"Sure." She stood up from swing and started walking toward the door before realizing Sarah wasn't following. She turned around with a lifted brow. "You coming?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

She sniffled. "I'm stuuuck!"

Chloe stifled a laugh. "Sam!"

Turning around, Sam sighed, realizing what was happening and came over. Carefully, he helped her up from the swing and rubbed her back. As the two walked inside, Chloe decided to check on her two favorite men. "'Kay, hand me the socket wrench."

"This one?" Logan asked, holding it up high for Dean to see.

"Yeah." He took it from him and then pointed inside. "You see that?"

"Uh huh!"

Dean grinned before explaining to him what it was and what it did.

Chloe slid up behind him and leaned against his back, watching over his shoulder as he fiddled with things.

"Hey bud, why don't you go grab me a beer?" he asked.

Logan hopped down from the car. "Can I have popsicle?"

"Ask your mom."

Chloe snorted. "Only one!"

Logan ran off toward the house eagerly.

Wiping his hands on a rag, Dean turned around to smirk at her. "Sarah, okay?"

"Sam's soothing her." She nodded. "Don't think we'll have any pie or ice cream left though."

He frowned. "Guess we'll have to make a trip into town."

"Apparently we need more M&M's for you and Logan both."

He smiled innocently. "Kid should know better."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning against him. His arms slung low on her waist as he sat on the car comfortably. She pressed their foreheads together and sighed. "Big hunt," she murmured.

Sam came down to give him a hand and brought Sarah so she'd have Chloe to look after her while they were gone. Dean didn't often have to call his brother in and that worried her a little. He told her it was just because he wanted some back up and he hadn't seen Sammy since they found out Sarah was pregnant, but she was still worried.

"Piece of cake," he assured, squeezing her hips with his arm.

She ran a hand through his hair and licked her lips. "Just try and not get killed, huh?"

He grinned. "We'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it."

"I'll stock up on pie," she replied, smiling.

"You guys aren't gonna kiss are ya?" came the young voice of their son. She looked down to see him holding a beer in one hand and pink popsicle in the other.

Dean laughed. "So what if we are?"

His nose wrinkled. "That's gross, dad!"

"Dude, how do you think you got here?" his dad said with a chuckle.

"Kissing makes babies?" He tipped his head in thought. "How come I don't have like a bajillion brothers then?"

Chloe laughed, her head falling back.

Dean shook his head before cupped her cheek and drawing her mouth toward his. "You heard him, he wants a brother."

She smiled, her eyes falling closed as they kissed. His hand buried in her hair and her feet lifted from the ground as he picked her up, hugging her tight. She laughed against his mouth, letting her head fall to his shoulder. "Maybe I want him to have a little sister."

"We'll have to keep trying ‘til we get both," he agreed, smirking at her.

Sighing, she buried her face in his neck and breathed in his musky scent. She closed her eyes and relished in the comfort of his arms. There wasn't a doubt in her mind any more; they'd all faded away long ago. Chloe Sullivan had finally found the one hero she was meant to with. A demon-hunting mechanic with a love for pie, M&M's and her. She'd never been happier and she planned to stay that way.


End file.
